Black Birds of Tartarus The black birds shriek at the parliamentary procedures trying to out do another to be heard in the big old oak tree whilst I ill lay with the scent of fresh tar. Tar covered the broken asphalt of my body that cracked in millions of pieces, a burden that cannot be shared among others, sympathize and pity release and avoided because of my smell or my turmoil. I am alone listening to policy-makers chirp-chirp-chirp-squawk my impeding doom in this sinking pit as they have done with the mastodon. That poor mastodon, red tapes have flanked him of our most precious commodity the tusk-shelled away from us. Oh mighty! Juva Jovis! Strike your tree free
Sta.sh
